


Instant Crush

by folkloric, youngavengersbigbang



Series: Instant Crush [1]
Category: Young Avengers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, F/M, Pre-Romance, Reverse Big Bang Challenge, Wordcount: Over 10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 07:54:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/folkloric/pseuds/folkloric, https://archiveofourown.org/users/youngavengersbigbang/pseuds/youngavengersbigbang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he awakes for the first time, he wakes to the sound of language he doesn’t understand and cold fingers digging into flesh. There’s a bright light. His skin feels tight, cold, his eyes heavy. He feels if he moves his head that his eyes will roll from their sockets, bounce on the surface and roll away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Instant Crush

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Justicarsamaras](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Justicarsamaras).



> **Warnings/Triggers:** Off screen torture, and possible implied abuse
> 
>  **Notes:** I'd like to thank the mods for putting up for me with this and I'd also like to thank justicarsamaras for making such an awesome photoset! This story was inspired by my love of old 80s science fiction films (one in particular) to get the feel of it and Daft Punk's latest album. The title comes from one of the songs, "Instant Crush".

 

She whispers and falls from his arms like an ephemeral dream "Catch me."

The rain drowns out the sound of the helicopters that whirl above as he stares over the ledge of the building and watches her fall through a bath of technology, sound and neon colors to the shopping centre below. A dark slash that contorts to a comma that then becomes a full stop, disappearing and merging with the darkness of the streets below. So focused on trajectory, he doesn't feel the hand on his shoulder until he's got Boss in his ear, yelling, pissed. 

"You let her go." Boss says, staring at him with hard eyes. The gloved hand on his shoulder moves to his bicep and is squeezing with the strength only a synthetic could possess. "I told you to use any force necessary." 

"That's against the law. We're only suppose to-"

"I don't give a flying rat's ass what the rules say kid. You listen," The finger stabs into newly made marrow and muscle of his chest. Boss continues, relentless, and with emphasis digs his finger in a little deeper. "It's not the goddamn twenty-first century kid. Hasn't been for the last damn several last times I checked. Get your head in the game and stop trying to act like we give a shit about it, you damn patriot." 

The finger dislodges from Eli's chest and he resists the burn to raise a hand and cover the wound. To pry the portion of his uniform that's stuck in the dent in his sternum. The dent he can feel his nanobots beginning to knit him back together. Above one of the helicopters drops a spot light on him and his Boss, the light blinding the other men from them. 

"So next time-"

"Next time you do your job, do you understand me." 

Eli stares at Boss, he who with a mechanical eye whirling amidst skin so damaged by fire, it never fully healed even with the technology of the day. 

"Do you understand me?" Boss asks again. 

"Yes, sir." Eli says, his tone flat. The two men stare at the other as the rain continues to pour. 

"Hit the showers. I'll see you at eleven hundred. You're dismissed." 

o0o

When he awakes for the first time, he wakes to the sound of language he doesn’t understand and cold fingers digging into flesh. There’s a bright light. His skin feels tight, cold, his eyes heavy. He feels if he moves his head that his eyes will roll from their sockets, bounce on the surface and roll away. He can feel a weight, a pressure on his legs and his instinct to push up, to fight, to reject the touch that pushes across from his thighs to ankles and back again. More hands push down, as his body follows the command of the mind and jerks and the sound he wants to escape his throat isn’t there as he tries and tries to fight. There are dark, looming blurs amongst the light. He can hear the language again, cold, nasal, can feel it vibrate against his skin as a dark box floats up to the light and then down to block his view. Panic builds into hysteria, a thin whine escaping his throat as thin cords expel from the box’s sides and caress his skin as they plug into him and he jolts as his spine seizes, his eyes roll as language becomes apparent and information does not stroll but stream into him. 

Elijah Bradley is the name they say is his. 

Hours later he slurs his words as he takes deep steadying breaths asking, “Why’m here?” 

Sitting on the edge he looks down from his cold table to the ground below, giving him vertigo. The hospital suit that covers him like a glove does nothing for the chill he feels. The hospital orderly in his gown of navy says nothing to him, continues to work as he pulls out three plugs from the side of his neck. With shaky fingers, Eli feels them. Smooth and cool, circular. The orderly bats his hand away and holds up a tiny flesh colored plug. With each seal he puts into his neck, the orderly holds the flesh colored stopper in front of his eyes. 

“You fucked up.” Is what the man in uniform says as he walks through the door. Eli blinks at him as the darken blur comes closer to him. “You fucked up and you’ve just finished your time served. How does that make you feel?” 

The man grabs the back of a chair and with a smooth swing; the chair glides across the room and settles in front of Eli. The man in black sits in the chair, looking up at him. Eli stares down, notates the wreckage of twisted sun starved skin and of an eye that whirls red in its socket before focusing at him as his eyesight focuses in. 

“I asked you a question.” The man says, flicking one of Eli’s knees hard enough to get a response from the joint. His leg swings forward and back. 

“What,” Eli’s words are dry in his mouth and he has to think before he speaks. “Did I do?” 

The man in black grins up at him. 

“Classified.” 

“Classified?” Eli repeats. 

“Classified. But, lucky you,” There was something heavy, a slate in the man in black’s hand that he hadn’t seen. It knocks against his knee, a hollow metallic sound that sets Eli on edge and forces the movement again but this time the man grabs his ankle and applies pressure as he looks up. “It doesn’t matter anymore what you did. In fact, you’re getting a bonus: you get to work with me.” 

“Work?” 

“Let’s get straight to the point kid.” The pressure is taut on his ankle. “Starting seventy-two hours, you’ll be mine kid. You work for me and I’ve got two rules. Two rules. Rule one: you listen to me. If I tell you to do something, you don’t think: do.” A hard squeeze makes Eli’s fingers curl. “Rule two: don’t ask questions. You’re going into Intake. We’ll bring you up to speed. What we give you is all you need. Don’t ask about the past. I will repeat myself once for you, just to make it clear,” The man is black is up and in between his thighs. Breath hot, he warms Eli’s chilled flesh as he forces the newly wakened man to stare into the eyes of the man who will be his Boss in the coming days. “Eyes on me kid.” The whirling eye stops its orbit, realigns and fixates on him. “Don’t go poking around where you don’t belong.” 

He doesn’t stop shaking until the man in black is gone and residue of his breath has left him. 

o0o

Eli lays in the government funded housing he's been given to re-adequate himself to the world of the living. The room is deflated, the lights off, the bed thin and filled with the future’s version of springs, the sheets remind him of cotton yet are scratchy like wool yet smell of butter. He lies in a pair of sweat pants given to him by the orderlies in a box titled Acclamation. He’s shirtless, as he tosses a baseball in the air with one hand, catches it with the same, and does so again and again. With every toss of the ball he relives it- her stare, the weightlessness of her letting go and falling. With every catch the slap of his hand against leather reminds him of her words, _catch me_. 

There are notebooks scattered on the other half of the sized bed, his scrawl on the open pages illegible but working to legible by the end. He catches his ball one more time before dropping his arm and twisting on to his side to look out the lone window in his room. He stares at the graffiti that's gone though a vast improvement from what his hazy memory provides. He remembers paint that came out of a can, images and words that were static. Accompanying those words he visualizes or fantasizes of streets covered in concrete, and cracked with the weeds. A world he fills with the bright yellow of cars that expel smoke, of men hawking their wares from carts on the street. A world that doesn’t regularly break into his mind as he tries to focus on his past, to broadcast on the chip in his brain the latest news. 

Here as he looks through his window he sees a looping image of a smiling woman, one with Technicolor hair that has a mind of its own. She's throwing some sort of sign he hasn't bothered to decipher and beneath her is scrawled words he can’t tell rep whatever gang she's the mascot of. She winks at him, tossing her hair over her shoulder, her mouth moving to say the words beneath her stylized waist. He breathes deeps and closes his eyes, and thinks to the past. He focuses on the world of the yellow cars and the buildings that feel so tall but are in fact small in this time’s standard. His breathes deep and slow, trying to find the rhythm his mind tells his muscles that they should know. Deep breathe in; deep breathe out, he focuses on the rhythm that mimics sleep. 

As he focuses on the pattern, he feels him travel in the world of his mind’s imaging. The gossamer memories come back to him- the street dog from the vendor, the bend of a knee to tie his shoes. The smell of an older woman- his grandmother- as he gives her a hug. In the background he can feel the hum die down on the synthetic portions of his body as he falls deeper into the lull he’s putting himself in. He can taste cake on his tongue, his foot twitches as he run on the track field surrounded by other, his fingers twitch as they bury themselves in a skein of black silk. His breathing deepens, his eyes fall shut as in his mind’s eye his hands travel up the skein to discover that in fact the black threads are hair attached to a scalp. His fingers twitch as the sensation memory ghosts over them and he focuses on this memory, discards the rest that threaten to push this one aside. 

His lips tingle as they brush that’s skin, flushed, warm. Speckled with barely there freckles that stretch from neck to collar as a pale constellation; he pushes deeper into the memory, can feel thighs on either side of his waist that causes his skin to prickle and he can feel his memory self pull up and stare down at the wet marks he’s left on her chest and neck. He can feel the blanket that’s beneath them. He can smell a hint of perfume and he feels the memory self pull up further and look up, up to stare a face with a dimpled chin- then the memory in his mind short circuits as if someone has turned off an old tube television and then it’s back in a flash revealing the girl’s face: a mass of blurring pixels. 

“Eli,” The blur of mismatched colors sounds breathless. “Don’t stop” 

His memory self chuckles, and he can feel it in his chest like butterflies caught in a net. “Kate-” 

White noise. White noise invades his mind, tossing the memory of reach and replacing it with snow as he grips his head, instinctively curling in on himself. He gasps. Eyes wide as he short nails bury into scalp as the muscles in his body relax, coil, relax, and coil as the boom of the anchorman comes on in his head. 

“BREAKING NEWS: THE VIGALNTE ASSOCIATION KNOWN AS HAWKEYE HAS-”

The faces of the news anchors are all he can see as he blinks rapidly as the moisture gathers at the corners of his eyes and fall. It’s an out of body experience- he’s in his room but he sees the room as if it were the sound stage for the local news. He’s gasping wetly as the anchors continue to give their spiel and he’s able to pry a hand from his head, blindly reaching behind him for a pen and scribbles onto one of the notebooks. 

Boss’s voice rings loud and clear, muting the voices of the newscasters saying, making the pen in his hand snap, saying, “LEAVE IT.” 

His ears ring in the silence at follows the announcement. His breath labored, muscles weak, as his vision of his room comes back to him. He twists over on the bed to stare at what he’s messily written. 

KATE is written across several notebooks and the sheets and he takes a deep breath, and with a heave sits up. He grabs his gear- pants, a sweat shirt, boots- and leaves his room, his feet pounding the pavement for the night as he tries to get rid of the low buzz of static in his ears. 

It doesn’t go away. 

o0o

“Am I real?” The question is whisper soft, and the orderly stops his calculations to look at him. 

Eli is standing in the clothing that’s from his specialized Acclamation box. The clothing is old fashioned, beyond vintage, ancient: a cotton shirt, jeans, and a hooded jacket. His feet are bare as there are more prints that need to be taken. The orderly had watched him put it on with a mixture of curiosity and repulsion. Eli is watching is fingers flex and straighten, flex and straighten. His ebony skin standing stark in the room doused in white and his clothing in shades of grey and white. 

“Obviously, otherwise you wouldn’t have asked.” The orderly says. 

“I know I’m, physically, real but. But. Am I human?” Eli asks and he flinches as the Orderly gives an abrupt laugh. 

“Shit, look kid.” The orderly’s chair glides over to him and the man stops. He stands up taps against his own temple. “I forgot you’re from a backwater era. Look. You’re human. You were frozen for a bit, we defrosted you. We couldn’t save all of you but we were able to regrow it. You’re you. All your cells are you, except for the additions.” 

“Additions?” Eli steps away and the orderly rolls his eyes, sits down. “You did what to me?” 

“Standard procedure. Everyone, even you, has the bots in them to heal. Standard healthcare, keeps everyone but the needed out of the hospitals. But you have a chip. We got to monitor what you’re thinking. Big Guy’s orders.” 

“What are you afraid I’m going to do?” Anger colors Eli’s words as he narrows his eyes at the orderly who only calmly looks back. “Is that classified too?” 

“I don’t get paid to know that. All I know this is: if your Boss doesn’t like it,” There’s snap of fingers from the orderly. “Poof, it’s gone. I’ll be honest, and I might get in trouble for it but: write it down kid. Write it all down if you care about it. On paper not tech. Now get out, you’ve got one more test and Acclamation is taking you out.” 

o0o

“What are you going to do? Scream?” 

She’s warm in his arms and he has to remember: keep this professional. Keep this kosher. Keep this by Boss’ rules. But if he were following Boss’ rules, he’d have arrested her out right. 

Instead, they dance. 

It’s a charity function, its theme: Ancient Earth. The women are in dresses that are draped and pinned, sequined and stiff. Some have gone for modest, some have not. Men are stuck in suits that have many complaining on lack of options but Eli feels...comfortable. Normal in the suit. For the first time in the weeks that he has lived in this new century, he finds himself at this function no longer the fish out of water but a fish back in its bowl. The function is hosted by a man who claims to be a distant heir to the Stark technology empire and who has been unlawfully cut away from his ancestor’s fortune. Eli is here because Boss’ intelligence tells him a Hawkeye will be here and his source is right. 

Eli’s current dance partner has gone for modest, her own dress a rich purple that contrasts with the paleness of skin and the darkness of her hair. They’ve been dancing about the room for a good hour now, the timer at the back of his thoughts is telling him but he doesn’t want it to end. 

“What good would screaming do?” He replies back and sees the gleam of white teeth. “I mean, besides ruining my creditability.” 

“What credibility?” She needles. “The Man who’s Nearly Caught Hawk-,” she pulls in closer to his ear as she spies something he can’t see. His grip tightens as they sway. “-eye seven times.” 

“It was five.” 

“Seven. You lost me last time. I let you find me. Then you lost me again.” 

“Five.” He says, stubbornly scanning the crowd. 

“I’ll let you believe that.” She replies and smiles into his chest. 

The party ends when her accomplice- another Hawkeye- appears and shoots the host in the chest with an arrow. This is a first as usually one is needed to the do the job and it sends Boss and his network into a spiral of static and orders. At the end of the night, before he returns to the tuxedo, from his pocket he pulls out a note. In neat script it says, _do androids dream of electric sheep?_

He stares at the paper; sure he has heard the phrase before. The ink it’s written in is red, and he gets a vision of the color, along with green and gold in his mind. The note is folded neatly, into a thick square and he can see as he lifts up, more writing. He hides the papers and attempts to dream. 

When he awakes the next morning, he cannot remember if dreamed or not. 

o0o

“What’s their goal?” Eli mutters as he leans heavily on his arm, scrolling through a file given to him. There’s a glow of monitors and screens about the room as other men are brought up to speed that gives his skin a greenish cast. He sits in the office of the paramilitary police division he’s assigned to, caked in the same black clothing that Boss and his men wear. Heavy boots wrap around his feet, the pants and tunic he has been given are the same shade. The military piping he wears is green to denote his rank- rookie. Newbie. Greenhorn. 

“Their mercenaries, they don’t have a goal.” says one of the other men on his force. His own piping is a shade of blue. 

“There’s always a goal.” Eli shoots back and the other man gives him a look before going back to his own work. 

He leans back in his chair, the neck of the seat bending easily as he holds the information slate easily in his lap. He brushes through the files quickly, the text flying past as the chip in his mind readily acquires the information faster than humanly possible. His browsing stops however when it comes to the section dividing various security footage of each known Hawkeye. He focuses in on the still of a woman, looking over her shoulder. He expands the image, taps it once to get the video to play and stares. 

The video is that of an assassination of a political leader. The room is crowded, packed with supporters and well wishers. There are political signs and quotations floating about the room in a haze of electrical static that he still hasn’t gotten used to. The speech begins but Eli quickly mutes it and pressing two fingers on the board, he draws them further away from each other, enlarging a specific portion of the video. It’s pixelated but it doesn’t matter as what Eli sees gets his mind whirling. There’s a woman standing on the scaffolding at the top most portion of the hall where this taking place. Dressed in black she nearly merges into the shadows, except for the bright slash of purple that’s across her chest. From near her feet, she pulls out a weapon- his mind stutters as the information comes to him, still new at this, and then places what it is- a crossbow, the weapon is a crossbow. The video shows her notching it, getting into position and waiting. 

She executes the political leader with precision and care. One moment she is kneeling, disappearing into the dark, the next, the slash of purple is moving. She stands fully, the crossbow already folded away as she latches the pack to her back and is about to move, when she looks over her shoulder. The video freezes on this frame, her arm reaching up to grab hold of a ladder, her pale skin sticking out amongst the dark. Her eyes stare at him, and he feels tightness in his gut as he stares at the face and has the sensation of déjà vu pulses through him. 

“What are you looking at?” The guy from before asks, he leans over and takes the slate from him. 

“Hawkeye.” He says and he repeats it to himself as his co-worker continues to talk. He ignores it, focusing on the word he just said and matching it to the face. He repeats the word again, thinking hard on why it feels so familiar. A migraine blooms in the back of his head, making him stifle a groan as he tightly closes his eyes, the lights suddenly too bright. With each breath he takes, his sensitivity grows- he can feel the individual fibres of the tunic he’s in, feel the sudden unwanted pressure of the chair across his back and waist. He breathes shallowly. Each breath a burn that starts at his tongue and travels down his throat. The pressure in his head building, building, building-

“I told you not to think about it.” Boss’ voice comes through the smog of pain. The older man’s hand comes down and his knuckles rap on his skull, the new sensation and pain echoing in his skull, rippling as if a stone tossed in a pond. So strong is it that he misses the first half of what Boss is saying. “...listened to the rules.” 

“McKinley,” Boss says and the man who had been talking to Eli straightens in his chair, and then hastily stands. 

“Sir.” 

“Throw him in the showers, let him cool off.” 

Eli passes out under the rain of the shower, feeling as if the water wasn’t cool but scorching. 

o0o

He’s hitting the streets for the first time in weeks. 

Boss has had him on standby, having him nearly living in the station. But this week, he’s been given leave and he’s back in his old room, the one given by housing. He can only stay in the box for a few hours before he can’t take anymore and he’s out, experiencing the night air without the tension of trying to find someone lurking in it. Living on the edge of the city, he works his way in. The walk is easy, amiable. The streets are paved in a dark gray, and no longer are they covered in paint to give direction. Bright lights filter in from beneath, giving animated directions on where to walk and when to stop. The streetlights are motion activated, turning dark until he approaches and glowing bright enough for him to see the distance between. They’re bright enough for him to notice that someone from work is watching him. 

He pauses now and then to stare at the things he never thought he would live to see. Store shops with windows that give holographic projection of what their clothes would look like on one’s own body. Technology that moves works with instinct instead of command. He can see the night sky, clear without smog and light pollution and that’s one of the biggest wonders of all. 

He settles into a bar, the fifth he’s tried for the night. The first several are too loud, too claustrophobic for his liking. Heat the bar ordering a beer that sounds safe when she slides into the stool next to him. Blonde hair long and loose, she looks at him, resting her head on her palm. Her eyes are heterochromia- her left blue, the other brown. Her makeup matching her nails, a blaze of gold near her lashes blending though myriad of colors up to her brow. A nose ring completes her look as her fingers tap along her cheek, her nails flashing indiscriminate colors. 

She gives him a smile and her voice comes out low when saying, “Hey-”

“No.” He cuts off and the bartender delivers him a cider he could pointed to. 

“Three credits.” The bartender says and Eli hands him the money. He turns to the lady at the bar. “You?” 

“I’ll take a brandy.” She says, turning her smile up to him. The bartender doesn’t smile back, and solemnly gets the bottle and her glass. The girl holds out a card and from beneath the bar, what Eli can only describe as a vintage ATM machine with thin robotic arms pulls and hoists itself up. The machine holds itself in the hair, its body standing tall as it pops the lower half of itself open, as if it were a mouth. The girl delicately places her card inside, the machine snapping at her fingers as it closes in on itself, causing her to jump in surprise then giggle. 

“You almost got me.” She says and the machine reads the card with a mixture of whirls and beeps. Colors flash on the screen, going from red to green, indicating that her card has been approved. The machine opens its mouth again, and the girl pulls the card out and when the machine disappears, the bartender places her glass in front of her. 

“If you’re working tonight, don’t do it at the bar. Do the booths.” He says, and disappears to the other end. 

“Rude.” She says and takes a drink. She smacks her lips, and turns back to Eli. “I mean both of you by the way.” 

“I’m not interested.” Eli elaborates and takes his own drink. The alcohol tastes sweet on his tongue and burns on the way down. 

“I didn’t even offer anything.” 

“It’s my day off; don’t make me haul you in.” 

“Excuse you, one.” Her purse swings up on her lap and from its depths she pulls out a card. The picture looks like a mug shot or a passport photo- no makeup, lank hair. The woman in the picture looks nothing like the girl who’s sitting next to him. He sees her name, Elizabeth Jones. Beneath it is the basics, height weight, and date of birth. Underneath the basics there’s an ID number, and twelve small highlighted markers in green. “I’m clean. You see these markers. Rules are that we gotta be clean. I’ve been clean at every damn two week we have, since I started this gig.” 

She takes a deeper drink of her class and Eli takes a smaller sip of his. 

“Still not interested.” He says. 

“I can make you feel so good; you’ll forget whatever is bothering you.” She says, laying it on thick as she looks over her shoulder as if to project someone else in the room. 

His grip tightens on the glass. “I’m a part of the enforcement. Stop.” 

“Pfft, as if that’s stopped any of them.” She rolls her eyes and he makes note of her bitter tone. 

“Come on; let me take you back-” She reaches for his hand. 

“Touch me and I’ll break your hand.” He whispers. 

Her hand stills half way between them and then withdraws. 

“I’ll leave you alone, if you can answer one question for me.” She says, leaning in close. “If you can’t, you’ll follow me down the rabbit hole.” 

“What is it?” 

“Do androids dream of electric sheep?” 

His lungs freeze as he looks forward at the many bottles of liquor lining the wall. The girl, Elizabeth, Hawkeye, drinks calmly from her glass, finishing it. She pulls away from the stool, puts her hand high on his thigh, puts her hip into her pose and loudly asks, mindful not to stare directly at Eli’s shadow in the back corner. 

“You ready to go, big boy?” 

The walk to the nearest brothel is ten minutes away and they make the walk in silence. Elizabeth makes a show of it, leaning heavily bodily into him and with a stumble in her step. Her cheeks are bright with blush to mimic the flush of a drunk. She pays at the door of the brothel, the building sealed shut until she slides her identification card in, punches in her pin and is given access to the lobby inside. The receptionist is a bored twenty years old, reclining in her hair with a catalogue on her lap. “What’s open?” Elizabeth asks, and the receptionist looks up at her. 

“From high to low, we got the teahouse, leather dungeon, latex lab, toy store, dragon’s keep- we’re pretty much open tonight.” 

“Room with the best noise cancellation?” 

“Teahouse, topmost floor. Want it for..?” 

“Give me the night.” 

The receptionist whistles low and from beneath the desk tosses up a set of keys. 

“Have fun.” She says, engrossed in her catalogue once again. 

The elevator is a short walk and neither of them say anything until the doors close and with a small push, the elevator accelerates upward. 

“Boss will know. You shouldn’t be doing this.” Eli says. 

Elizabeth looks at him, her mismatched eyes taking him in. She swallows hard and looks forward at the elevator doors. 

“Don’t worry about it.” She says. 

“Why should I trust you? Besides the stupid quote, why am I doing this.” He says in frustration. She doesn’t move as she's more focused on the doors as he steps away from her. “If I followed what was right I would-”

“Is ‘following what’s right’ what he tells you or what you believe. Last time you followed what you thought was right, it was inspired by a man who’s infinitely better than that asshole.” 

The door opens and Elizabeth doesn’t spare him a glance, as she steps onto the smooth hard wood of the hotel’s mimicry of what an Ancient Japanese spa had apparently looked like. The room is bare except for the slated wood, and sliding door. Sliding doors, that Elizabeth moves and pushes them open starting from one side of the room to the next to expose a shallow pond and plant life. There’s a bed that Eli can see as he steps on the wood, modern and sandwiched on an island of moss and bamboo. 

“This is better than I thought.” Elizabeth offers in the quiet. 

“I’m programmed so that Boss will know my every thought.” Eli says bluntly as Elizabeth tosses her toes on the wood, her purse swinging with the movement. “He jams it, me, when something comes up he doesn’t like. He makes me forget.” 

“I’ll fix it.” Elizabeth’s purse opens. 

“It’s my brain, you can’t take it out.” 

“I’m not going to take it out.” From her purse pulls out a tech slate, thin, metallic, similar to the one Boss brought with him the day they first met. Along with it is a cord with three prongs. Instinctively Eli’s hand rests against the ports on his neck. “I’m going to crack it. Every program has a crack, come on.” 

Elizabeth leaves the wooden portion of the room and steps into the pond, hissing at the cold as she steps out of it and onto the moss. She sits on the bed, looking at him, her tech sitting in her lap. 

“Why do you care?” Eli asks and Elizabeth wilts, she looks tired. Hopefully, but tired. 

“You don’t remember me do you?” 

“I can’t.” His teeth grind, and Elizabeth leans back amongst the pillows of the bed. 

“The first time we meet, you slipped up. Instead of hindering me, you helped. You called me Hawkette and you looked at me like you knew it was me. Get on the bed, Eli.” 

Eli gets on the bed and with delicate fingers, Elizabeth plugs into his mind and cracks the code. 

Eli dreams of electric sheep and dreams of being a young avenger. 

o0o

Rain is pouring as they attempt to keep up. 

McKinley has fallen behind, taken out by a trap Hawkeye has laid and now it’s just Bradley and McGuiness hot on her trail. This one is quick- nimble on her feet as she launches herself from the current building and onto the next, rolling neatly on the other side and continuing to run as soon as she can. McGuiness hesitates at the jump, his boots squealing but Bradley doesn’t stop, he accelerates, enjoying the burn in his thighs as he takes a running leap and rolls- thought not as neatly- and comes up into a run. From the other side he can hear McGuiness holler at him to keep going. 

He keeps going. From this building to the next, he stays hot on her trail. Arms pumping, he can see the Hawkeye looking back constantly to see if he’s still there. He’s gaining on her- she landed incorrectly a building back, a limp that’s been progressively slowing her down. Through the rain, he looks to the side at the same time she does, and they both see in the distance the light of a helicopter coming to his aid in the distance. He can feel it in his bones more than hear it that she’s pissed. Stressed. She nearly tumbles on pipe work she’s distracted and he’s close enough to her now that he takes his chance. A helicopter whirls overhead, just as he grabs the back of the uniform and with a pull, drags them both beneath the overhang of the roof stairwell. 

She still against his body, her chest heaving as they both stop and listen to the pulse of the blades cutting through air before swinging away. They stay together a beat longer after the sway of the light is gone, unsure if it’s truly gone or a trick. 

“What the hell are you doing?” She gasps out and pushes away from him. She’s got her hand on her hip, near the small of her back where her bow, folded, is resting. 

“What does it look like Hawkette,” He says without thinking, his thoughts more focused on _helicopter, boss, keep running_ between his own breaths. “Making sure we don’t get caught.” 

He doesn’t register the words he’s said to her, but he sees her stiffen. See’s the tension in her body, and the whites of her eyes. 

“What did you call me?” She says, disbelief coloring her words as she takes a step closer. 

“Hawkeye.” He says. 

“No you didn’t, you called me something else. What did you call me?” 

“Hawkeye.” 

“No, no you didn’t. Shit,” She fingers dance around the mask on her face. She licks her lips. “Patriot?” 

“What?” 

“Oh my god, Eli.” The way she makes his name, makes him freeze. He can feel a steady pressure building in the back of his head, just like the time at the office just before McKinley threw him under the showers. But this worse, he can start to feel the beginning of the pressure at the back of his head to the tip of his toes, to his gullet. She’s hugging him, her breath labouring as he stands there. Intensifying the pressure as he tried to push pass it and focus on what’s she’s called him and why that’s important. “I thought I was the only one. You have to come back with me.” 

“Hawkeye,” The word is cut off as he takes a deep breath of air as vomit wells in his throat. Eye stinging, he finishes. “I can’t.” 

A helicopter whirls over head, the spotlight streaming just above them. 

“Eli, listen to me.” His face is in between her palms. “Catch me.” 

Boss finds him on the ground, a puddle of vomit beside him, and curled into a huddle. 

Hawkeye is gone. 

o0o

When he awakes it’s to the sound of waterfall somewhere close. There’s a bright light. His skin feels tight, cold, his eyes heavy. His back feels stiff; his arms heavy as he groans low and feel a pinch on his neck. He smacks at it and is startled when he feels three prongs sticking out of his neck. His languid stupor fades as he jerks on the cord, looking for the source and he feels the pillows shift next to him and he unearths the tech slate. With fumbling fingers, he presses the screen and is given the answer he’s looking for. The words Program Executed are bold on the interface and he drops it back onto the bed. 

“Oh.” He sighs and yanks the cords out of himself. He rests the butt of palms against his eyes, pressing lightly down. Hesitation hits him as tentatively tries to bring his thoughts around the past and focuses in. He breathes deep, full, in and out as he focuses on a simple object. He visualizes a star, and the more he concentrates, he can see bands of white and red surrounding said star now inlaid in circle of blue. He chokes when the words Captain America float up into his mind as if it belongs and from there, he begins his slow progression of shifting through his memories. 

He doesn’t know how long he lies there, in the state between trance and sleep. He can feel the bed dip now and then, knows that Kate- Katherine Elizabeth Bishop, Hawkette, Hawkeye, Knighttress, Hawkingbird, everypetnamepossible- is in the room and that comforts him more than he can admit. He remembers the times, the good (pizza nights, missions that went well) and the bad (everyone learning about the MGH, disappointing the Captain, screwing up the resurgence of the mutant population, Cassie) but best of all, he just remembers. He can’t stop the physical reactions (his hands twitch, a muscle jumps, his shoulders tense) but he knows he can work through it. He knows he can. 

“How much time do we have?” He asks, twisting on the bed to look up at Kate, who’s sitting against the head board. Her hair is still blonde, though she’s taken a contact out. 

“Long enough, the owner owes us.” She moves the slate from her lap and places it on the bed and focuses her attention on him. “What do you want to know?” 

“What did we do wrong?” 

“We didn’t do anything wrong.” Kate shifts lower on the bed to lie down next to him, her arm pillowed on an arm. “Guilt by association. They realized Billy was just like his mom and they panicked.” 

“Who panicked?” 

“I don’t remember,” Kate says honestly “but I do remember is that we didn’t go down without a fight. They didn’t kill us because they were afraid what Billy might do.” 

“So what did they do?” 

“Isn’t it obvious,” Kate says, closing her eyes and playfully shoving at his arm. “They put us to sleep.” 

o0o

He has a strange collection one in which he will not show anyone, including Boss. It is made up of seven pieces: a vintage Bishop Chess piece, the pattern of red, white and blue and the etchings of a figure in white and green. He also has a pair of glasses, the shard of a record. There’s a paper craft of a bird’s wing and curiously enough, a miniature of a Skrull. He doesn’t know what these mean, he doesn’t think deeply of them. He finds them on missions where he’s called. They were found in stairwells, in basements, on crowded ballroom floors. No one else sees them, no one else cares to notice but he does. He pockets them and when he gets home, he hides them. By third it had become a game: where was the newest clue going to be next? 

The eighth piece is the paper, _do androids dream of electric sheep?_ written upon it. 

When he comes back to his apartment after his night with Kate, he pulls his collection out and studies each individual piece. Saying the name of each person it represents. He unfolds the letter and reads each name aloud, committing to memory the names that spur his memories back into place. 

He feels the first prickle of anger spark in his gut and he does nothing to quell spark. 

o0o

_“We need to work together on this.” Kate had said. “We need to wake up everyone else. I was a fluke; I shouldn’t have woken up when I did. You were picked up, I’m assuming in hopes that they would ‘rehabilitate’ you. Use you.”_

He is paranoid as he walks down the hall of the station and into the belly of the beast. He’s on shift for the night and he’s gotten more attention from his fellow soldiers than he’s used to. They slap him on the back, clasps his shoulder, congratulate him- they know about last night. They think he slept with Kate. He gets in the lift, enters his clearance and steadies himself as he starts to go down. 

_“What do you we needed to do?”_

“We need to get free everyone. America, Tommy, Billy, Noh-var- everyone. They froze us and then dumped us.” 

“Where did they leave us?” 

“I don’t remember. All I know is that it’s off planet.” 

Every stop the elevator makes, his heart thumps and race. People get on, people get off, but he stays on and waits. When he gets to the lowest level that he has clearance for, he takes a steadying breath steps off, confident in his posture, his attitude. He’s in Archives and he’s about to steal his own file. 

McKinley is manning the manning the desk, boots propped up on the table, watching a rerun of a show. He gives a mock salute to Eli and Eli gives one back. He’s walking to the motion sensor when he can feel someone watching him and he stops just on the threshold of the Archives, getting a view of long walkways of file cabinets and sterile walls when he turns to see Boss, watching, curious. 

“What are you doing?” Boss asks, a coffee in hand. Behind him McKinley is tripping over himself to look busy. 

“Research.” The truth rolls off his tongue without hesitation. 

“For what?” Boss presses on and takes a long drag of his coffee, his eyes never straying. 

“Hawkeye.” He answers and turns to his superior. “I think I found a pattern and I wanted to confirm it.” 

“Talk with me.” Boss continues his walk and Eli follows. 

o0o

It’s a game now. 

Eli manoeuvres his way around the station as if it were chess, the information he needs is the King: always in the back, the most powerful yet the weakest piece. Boss is the Queen, always near to the King but reaching out across the board. He, himself, is the Rook, straightforward in purpose but manoeuvring around the other pawns on the board. Kate is the Bishop. It’s a slow burn of a game, he learns from the first night when he just thought to move instinctively to get his file and leave immediately. Instead he begins working with his team, learning their names, their habits, their likes, dislikes. He works on them on other cases, catching other criminals. Taking down men who gained from the misery of others. He manoeuvres himself into their good graces and waits. 

Kate doesn’t back down either, continuing to work with her organization; she continues her line of assassination. They continue to work together as the months roll by, meeting up every so often to update each other on the others progress. With his new found acceptance into his role, Eli finds more doors opening, more paths to choose from. He’s given greater clearance then before, no longer feels that others are watching him. He siphons information, a little bit here or there. Information that he needs, information that he doesn’t. Boss is always watching. 

Then Boss is not watching. 

It’s a week and he hasn’t felt Boss’ gaze on him or hasn’t had a talk. He sees it as a blessing however, though he notes how men close rank when he walks by. Conversation shifts and they either look at him or don’t acknowledge. Something is up but he doesn’t press. Instead he plugs deeper into the interface, even streaming into himself the knowledge of how to fly. 

Things come to ahead however when Kate is caught. 

He isn’t there when it happens, he knows of it however as the other men talk. 

“How long do you think they’ll last?” One of the men says, drinking coffee in the mess hall. 

“At the rate she’s going, I say to the end of the week.” His friend snickers, taking a bite of a candy bar. 

“Who?” Eli asks, his chest tightening. He hasn’t messaged Kate this past week but usually she sends a message to him. She hasn’t yet. He rolls his shoulders to release some of the tension. 

“Who, who?” The man, McGuiness fires back and his friend snickers. 

Eli grins, the movement forced. 

“We caught the Hawk.” 

“What?” Eli falters for a moment, his tone breaking making the men focus in. He corrects him. “Pfft, which one. We’ve got seven on record.” 

“You know the one. Pretty one who kept showin’ around when you were there.” The man says. “Had a bet going that she had the hots for you. Boss caught her good and quick about a week back. He’s been playing with her since.” 

There’s a grin on the man’s face as Eli picks up the candy bar between them, unwraps it and takes a bite. The chocolate product doesn’t register on his tongue as he continues to hold a conversation with the two men for a little while longer. 

When they leave, he does so as well and with him, he takes McGuiness’ coffee. 

He starts pulling information faster. 

o0o

It’s quiet in the station when he gets clearance and walks inside. Jacket over his shoulder, a few men nod at him or wave. A few women give him a tired nod or smile. He walks with purpose to the elevator lift, gets inside and when the doors surround him, he sighs heavily, his foot tapping as he grips his neck. He straightens as the elevator dings, and then stills, the doors not opening. 

“Clearance, necessary.” An automated voice says and the virtual buttons on the elevator screen recede to reveal a square in which to place thumb print. “Authentication necessary.” 

From his pocket Eli withdraws a synthetic thumb from his pocket. With the cup of coffee he had taken, he given the cup to a lab technician, asking for a recreation of the thumb it had belonged to. The technician had looked at him, to the cup, to him again and had taken it without a word. He looks at it for a moment, wondering if the technician had done what he had asked before pressing it gently against screen. Relief floods through him as MCGUINNESS ISAAC scrolls across the screen along with GRANTED. The elevator shifts as Eli stands tall, pocketing the synthetic copy and continues its descent. The floors go down, 1, 0, 01, 02 when the elevator stops at its final place. When the door opens, he sees a familiar face. 

“Took you long enough.” Boss says and that eye of his whirls bright and red. 

“Excuse me, sir.” Eli goes to step forward, but Boss palm stops him in his tracks. 

“Where do you think you’re going son, you don’t have clearance.” Boss’ one normal eye, yellowed, stares into him and he attempts to push Eli back. “We need to have a talk.” 

“Of course, sir.” Eli says, nodding and the other man slips inside. Neither of them press a button on the panel, only stand side by side in silence. 

“You were our prototype.” Boss says. “We had such high hopes for you. If you had passed, we would have gotten your friends out.” 

Memories well up at the words and Eli thinks of his grandfather, of the pain he went through with for the Super Soldier Program. Of the blood, sweat and tears he sacrificed for his country to only be forgotten. Eli’s hand curls in on itself as Boss continues to talk. 

“I knew something was up after you saw that bitch. You were a daily fuck up before then, always setting off an alarm for thinking too damn much. You see her and suddenly, you’re the best damn man in here. Superior wanted to move you up in ranks; you know what I told him?” 

“What, sir?” 

“That you were the best damn liar I’ve seen in a while.” Boss says and with a smooth movement stands in front of Eli who continues to look forward. He stares down at avenger, a smirk teasing at his lips. “He went above my head and gave you privileges. But I kept watch, I’ll admit you’re pretty good, Bradley.” 

“Is there anything else, sir?” Eli says, looking up at him for the first time. 

“What was that?” 

“Is anything else, sir?” 

“Would you like to say something kid? Spit it out.” 

“Get of my way.” 

Laughter wells up deep in Boss’ chest and escapes through his mouth rich tones that echo on the metal of the elevator door. 

“What did you say?” Boss’ laughter stills. 

“Get out of my way.” 

Boss’ answer is to throw a punch that hits him hard in the side, knocking the breath out of him and shoving him into the elevator wall. He winds his arm back again and throws his weight into and Eli rolls to the other side, just as Boss’ arm goes through the fabricated metal. The jacket falls from Eli’s shoulder, revealing the folded form of a bow. 

“I knew it.” Boss says, eyes narrowing. 

Eli’s response is to get out. 

The elevator door opens from the response of feeling movement inside, and he’s bolting down the hallway, unheeded by the fact that Boss right behind him. Arms pumping, déjà vu hits him as he realizes one of these rooms was where we woke up. Each doorway having a sliver of window showing a sterile room, some occupied, others’ empty, it spurs him on, to ignore the decreasing distance between himself and his pursuer. He expects Boss to grab him, to pull him back if he catches him. What he doesn’t expect is for Boss to throw his shoulder into him by bodily slamming him into a door, that can’t bear their weight or momentum. They and the door crash into the room with a low boom and a large crash, the bow Eli had brought popping loose between his body and the door and shooting off to another side of the room. The arrows clatter, bounce and fan about. He’s disoriented for a moment but then tries to right himself and stand up but Boss drags him back down and Eli’s back cracks against the tile of the floor. In a daze he sees Boss loom, his synthetic fist raised. 

“I should have killed you when I had the chance.” Boss says and his fist comes down, Eli bucks beneath him, partially unseating him enough that the hand meant to punch him, instead goes to steady him. 

“You’ve been a pain in my ass since we woke your frozen ass up.” Boss grounds out and then stops, picking up something Eli can’t see or hear initially. 

“Hit him,” The voice sounds old, tired. The source is blocked by Boss’ form. “And I’ll shoot.” 

“You wouldnt-” Boss’ words are cut off and one moment to the next, there is a shaft of a bolt sticking stark form his neck. His body trembles above Eli, his back arching sharply, a low hum coming from his body before it stops just as suddenly as it began. Eli pushes him off as he feels dampness streaming down his thighs, and looks to see who shot the arrow and freezes, his mind unable to take in what he’s seeing. 

Kate is nearly on the floor, chest labouring, and the bow loose in her hand. There’s a necklace of bruises that he can see around the hospital gown she’s wearing, deep purple and black. Her skin is sallow, her dark hair a nest. Her cheeks are stark, her lips dark and bruised. She pushes herself with considerable effort, shaking when she’s at her full height and forced to lean back against the gurney to catch her breath. Her bow clatters to the floor as she focuses on her catching her breath. Her right ankle is considerable swollen and even while standing, it lists worryingly at an angle. 

“Electromagnetic pulse bolt. How thoughtful of you to grab.” 

“Kate?” He asks breathless, and then he sees it. Her right hand is missing the smallest finger. The ringer finger is missing a joint. 

She opens her eyes and looks at him. 

“Let’s get out of here.” 

He carries her to the hangar bay as she clutches her bow and the arrows he quickly collected to her chest. They don’t meet anyone else when they walk down the hallway and neither of them speaks as they take the elevator down one more level. When the doors open and they reach the bay, the tension in Kate dissipates as she relaxes. As he walks up the ramp into the jet, Kate says, “Finally” before drifting off to sleep. 

o0o

When the jet lands, it kicks up enough lunar dust to cover the screen of their craft, setting the sensors off, warning them that the air is unsafe to breathe. 

“This reminds me of old times.” Kate says absently. Three months after their escape from the facility, she’s healed. She flexes the synthetic components of her right hand, the replacements for the ones she lost. In a cat suit of black and purple, she looks at home as she looks to Eli who has dressed himself in a variation of his old red, white and blue. 

“I wasn’t there for that.” Eli says. 

“I feel safer in this thing, then I did on the other. We had to keep believing it was real. Happy thoughts only.” She says with a smile. Eli says nothing, and she looks at him. 

“If you’d been there, we’d have crashed it.” She smiles at him. “They got so mad at me, ‘Kate just believe.’ ‘Kate stop being so pragmatic.’ ‘Kate, Kate, Kate, Kate.’ You would have liked them. You will like them.” 

“I know about Billy and Teddy and Tommy.” 

“America’s just like you, except she punches more. Noh-var...” she trails on the name as Eli begins hitting switches to cool the engine of their ship. “You’ll just have to meet him to understand him.” 

“There’s Prodigy...” she offers and continues to clue him to the new members of their team. 

When the signal is given, they set off. They trek through a canyon that they can barely see the sides of, the ground littered with small smooth stones. There are pillars, old stones that stand both naturally and unnaturally as they travel, rough with sediment and painful to the touch. They hike for a good hour when they come to it: a tall door, several yards high. There’s a fold up chair in front of the door and it brings both of them to a pause. 

“I don’t see anyone.” Eli says, holding a pair of binoculars. 

“I knew they were going to do this.” Kate replies, she closes her eyes, curses and stomps her foot. 

“Come on.” She grabs a hold on his arm, and pulls him forward. They jog up to the door and find that it’s cracked, just enough for them to squeeze inside. The cave, tunnel, whatever they’re standing in smells damp, the moisture in the air giving the feeling as if they’re standing in a fine mist. From the bag on Kate’s back, she takes out a small translucent grey ball, the size of a soft ball. With butt of her palm, she hits it once, twice and on the third time a bright light turns on and it gives a small hum. With a toss it dives in the air and then orients itself, climbing upward to however above them, giving them a ring of light. 

“Nice.” Eli says and Kate winks. 

“Always, let’s go.” 

They jog, spurred on by the light they go deeper into the side of the canyon, gently sloping downward the further in they go. The walls are a smooth finish that helps their light as along with the way see forgotten bottles of water, equipment, food. They stop their jog, catching their breath as they see the end of the path leading up to a large open door. 

They go together, walking up to the door. An arrow is notched in Kate’s bow, several throwing knives and stars at the ready along Eli’s belt. When they push the door further inside, the ball of light that has followed them goes further inside and causes greater illumination for them to see. 

“No,” Kate says. “No, no, nononono.” 

Eli using the light sees an ancient light switch and flicks it on. Old halogen lights that spark and hiss turn on to reveal a lab that is empty. There are eight stands in a semicircle in the back of the room, two of which hold human sized cases. One of which has a hatch opened skyward. A second is cracked, the screen fogged. Kate keeps repeating ‘no’ as she walks toward the last two cases as Eli looks to the other equipment in the room. There’s a full lab to the left of the room, complete with several tables, a gurney and various cabinetry. The cabinets are all open from he can see and there’s glass smashed on the floor, a table upturned. There’s papers scattered everywhere and he goes to pick them up when Kate is yelling at him. 

“There’s someone in here!” 

He’s at her side without a thought, as she pushes dust both real and imaginary to gain a peek side. There’s a silhouette but he can tell of whom. 

“We got to open this.” Kate drops her bow and tries to physically pry the case open. 

“Hold on, there’s got to be something here.” He says in a rush, adrenaline pumping as he goes back to the lab and starts searching. The lab has been wiped down clean but that doesn’t make him give up hope. He throws open cabinets that are half closed; he opens drawers to see if there is anything of use. Kate is in the background, her babble insistent, spurring him on and he nearly doesn’t realize he’s found the key, he’s so worked up. He pulls are drawer out so hard, that when the bottom portion of it shatters, a piece of paper sticks out. He stares dumbly at it for a moment, before pulling it up sharply then catching it with arms. He pries the wood loose and stares at the paper, the English words he hasn’t seen in so long looking foreign at first. 

“Kate,” 

“Hurry!” 

“Kate, I got it!” 

When he gets to her, they nearly rip the paper in their haste. Kate skims it quickly and goes from trying to manhandle the case open, to dropping to her knees and trying to turn on the small screen that wearily does so at its base. 

“I got!” She says and Eli hands the paper over. She punches the code in, and the screen gives her confirmation, saying it’s accepted. She shouts in relief, nearly hitting her head on the pod and Eli drags her out from underneath and they hug. 

“How long till it opens?” He asks into her shoulder. 

“As long as it takes.” 

They don’t count the time, they wait. They wait and wait, and finally, a beeping commences, there’s a violent hiss and the pod opens. 

The pod opens. 

**Author's Note:**

>  **End Notes:** This is my first foray into writing science fiction, I believe I did alright. This piece is the beginning a series. I hope everyone enjoys this!


End file.
